Prisoner
by C2H6Ethane
Summary: A committed Death Eater. The faultless hero. Yet as the former sat, tied and bound as she had been for almost a week now, beside the latter, the labels were lost and masks shed; they were two simple humans engaging in conversation under the stars, despite everything they hated about each other.
1. Prisoner

It was hardly in a conventional way in which they met. One's usual idea of meeting someone doesn't involve the pointing of wands, the uttering of curses aimed to kill, and roars of fury clashing against desperate screams.

She was masked, hair tied back into a tight bun, hidden under the thick black cloak. Her face lay concealed under the silvery skull of a mask that said all one needed to know. Death Eater. The words so despicable, disgusting , to the heart of any 'good' man. There was nothing distinguishing, nothing special. A drone, a follower. He was barely awake, having only risen out of urge to relieve himself, only just tucking his wand back into his pants, before the senses so finely attuned by months on the run alerted him to the presence he knew shouldn't have been there. The hero turned, reactions faster than the blazing green light that soared over his head as he ducked. Spellfire, a galaxy of lights and orchestra of noise, filled the forest.

The words flowed from his mouth, a verbal river of well practiced curses and jinxes, lapping over a tongue far too used to the sound of curses. Sparks clashed, the air trembled, as bolt met bolt midair leaving behind the hiss of cancelled magic. The girl was slowly being pushed towards the river, slowly losing her footing, ever so slowly falling. The boy was gaining the upper hand, advancing with bloodlust in the emerald eyes that were dull in fury. Fire met ice, green met red, snake duelled lion.

The lion lunged forward with a tongue of flame, the snake barely sliding under it. Water, a stream not gentle or refreshing, but forceful, forward, aggressive, cut through the morning air. The lion howled as it took the impact, roared as it struggled back to its feet, soaked from head to tail. The snake moved in for a kill, fangs bared green and blazing, yet the lion was ready, hardly a moment had passed yet it was already back on its hind legs, moving to react . All it took was a single spell, blood red, striking the abdomen of the black cloaked serpent, sending the green light flying uselessly into the grey skies, to end the battle.

The girl lost, fair and square. It had hardly been fair in the first place. A suicide mission; perhaps that hadn't been the title on the paper, but that was the harsh truth. Disposable. Perhaps that wasn't how she though of herself, but it was the simple truth. Girl, good but hardly great, young, average. Just the type then, to be sent on a mission of certain death. But nothing in this world was certain, least of all the promise of passing. If it had been, perhaps the tale would have ended here. As it stood, fate, in all her mischievous scheming, had other ideas.

"Get up". The words were harsh and cold, hardly befitting the title of 'hero' that had bequeathed on the boy. They were spat rough as from a grinder. The boy's messy black hair fell over his bloodied face as the wood in his hand was roughly shoved into the throat of his felled foe. The mask lay ajar, the robe torn and burnt, the girl sprawled below the lion like a broken rag-doll. She said nothing. The boy wasn't taking no for an answer; instead, roughly grabbing her collar, he pried the stationary figure up into the air, holding a bundle of the dark fabric in his hands in a grip merciless.

Her first words to him were nothing but scorn.

"Fuck off Potter. Just kill me already and you can go on your merry way to 'stopping' the Dark Lord, and I can die here like the disgrace I am." The voice was filled with nothing but disgust and hatred, dripping in the anger that lathered her entire being. The boy showed a brief moment of surprise. Not for the words spoken, but for the voice that spoke it. A voice familiar to him, yet equally distant. A voice he'd rather not have heard in the current predicament.

"Greengrass", was all the so named hero uttered quietly. He hadn't known her well. She was a snake, he a lion. The only time they associated each other was on the battlefield, whether exchanging harsh words or rapid spells. A member of the Slytherin clique, representative of it at the very worst, aristocratic, arrogant, spiteful. He may not have been glad to see her, but there was no love lost. She merely laughed, a high cold laugh that sent shivers down his back as it reminded him of another laugh he was all too willing to forget.

As he released the girl, keeping his wand trained on her figure, she threw off the mask, dropping the hood. The girl turned to look at him in scorn. "What's wrong Potter? Can't bear to kill one of your classmates? Get real. If it was Draco here, the Dark Lord himself would have competition for the title of 'best killing curse'." The laugh that followed was hollow, humourless. The smile didn't reach the empty brown eyes. Her face, considered by many who observed it to be a high class beauty unlike her fellows, could only be described as battered. Bruises, low hanging bags under the empty eyes, cuts bleeding fresh blood; at the moment, nothing particularly positive could be said about it.

The bot shook his head, keeping his wood pointed coldly at her chest. "I'm not afraid to kill you, Greengrass". The words were hollow, truthless. The coldness didn't reach his dull emerald eyes. No matter how he tried, Harry Potter was no killer. There was nothing in that heart that could bring itself to rob a mother of her daughter, a girl of her sister. That being said, neither was Harry Potter an idiot, much to the protest of certain people. The words "Incarcerous" left his mouth without a hint of hesitation, the rough ropes cleanly snapping to the contours of the girl's body. A flicker of fear passed over the dead brown eyes.

"Going to tie me up and have a little fun with me before you stick the other wand in me then, Harry? Go on, I don't care. Try your fucking best." Greengrass spat the words contemptuously, trying so desperately to inject into her voice the hatred she felt he deserved. The boy who strode shakily towards her said nothing, her merely shook his head, grasping the ropes with the iron grip of his left hand, while wrenching the wand from her hand with the remaining limb. As the ropes tightened, a slow horror began to grow in the blond haired Death Eater as she looked fearfully into the eyes of her captor, bottom lip trembling as she spoke.

"Don't say it, don't fucking say it Potter. Don't say you'll spare me. I don't need your god dammed, stupid, fucking, sympathy. This isn't the time for your shit. Kill me, you stupid Gryffindor bastard. Kill me and be done with it, like I know you want to, you little shit." All the insults and taunts in the word that she could muster poured out, tumbling forward into an increasingly incoherent stream of pointless words. All the girl could do was watch as she was levitated into the air, body floating unnaturally above the ground in an experience one might have almost considered to be fun, had her body not been bound by ropes from neck to ankles.

"Too bad Greengrass. Maybe you want to die. A lot of us want to die. Sometimes, I want to die too, but you know what, so fucking what. Life's shit, better start getting used to not getting what you want." Blunt words cutting the air, he began the tedious process of levitating Greengrass over to the campsite, slowly leaving behind the ruined spectacle of destruction that marked their site of battle. They exchanged no words, insults, or even glances. Silence, cold and uneasy, was only broken by the cries of "Harry!" that floated over the ridge above.

Descending the ridge came down the messy haired brunette and the tall redhead. Their shock was difficult to conceal, or in the case of the latter, disgust as he looked down upon the prisoner their comrade had brought. As the trio gathered two thirds of the way down the leaf covered slope, the other boy, Ronald, was the first to speak. "Harry, we can't take prisoners." His voice was ground in frustration. The words were angry, irritated, seething with an arrogance that screamed 'I'm right, listen to me!'. The boy with messy black hair only shook his head unhappily, turning to the brunette with a pleading look. She seemed to understand whatever sentiment ran through his heart better than the other boy, who only turned incredulously to the pair.

"She's not just a snake, she's a Death Eater, and by the looks of it, one that tried to just kill Harry. Why the fuck do you think this cunt's worth keeping alive? All she'll be is a drain on us. We'll have to slow down to keep her around, this isn't mercy or kindness or some shit like that you shit twats it's just plain stupid and I-"

The rant of the the redhead was cut off by the other girl. She stood with her arms crossed, looking neither glad nor mad, only contemplative, a million thoughts streaming through her head as she tried to resolve the yawning rift that had cracked open between the group. "Ron, we aren't going to keep her around forever. Once we get the chance, we'll drop her off to an order safe-house where she can be properly incarcerated. Isn't that right Harry?" The last word was almost pleading, as she turned to the dark haired boy, begging that he follow, to just stay quiet and agree, for the sake of unity.

He said nothing but merely nodded and began to ascend the ridge. Harry didn't feel like speaking. The green eyed youth barely felt anything at all, only a faint ebbing anger that only grew. The sleep had washed it away, refreshed him, and sent thrills of joy through his heart; the same positive feelings that had sparked him to take mercy on the former classmate of his. But the creeping plague was catching back up to him, and no matter how hard he ran, he couldn't outpace it. There was only one thing he could do, yet he was so loathe to do it, but at the same time, yearned desperately to.

Reaching the small campfire that burned with low, flickering remnants of flame, the exhausted boy cancelled the levitation charm, sending Greengrass tumbling to the ground as he collapsed into sitting lazily next to the slow burning ashes. The youth looked to right, where the Death Eater lay, a cold anger burning in the brown eyes that reflected the faintly leaping orange sparks. The silence stretched on, this time, unbroken by the pair who seemed to have disappeared into the forest unknown. He spoke. "I never though that they'd send you after me, Daphne Greengrass."

"So what. Do you pity me, Potter? Don't pity me. I made my choice, I accepted the mission. If you were lying at my feet, it wouldn't be in ropes, you would be a savaged and bloody corpse. I serve the Dark Lord faithfully. No Imperius required unlike some retards." Every time she insulted him, her mood seemed to lighten, if only ever so slightly, as though the feel of verbally assaulting someone somehow relieved her of the stress she had built up. The long blond hair was no longer tied in the neat bun it had been, but was strewn in the mud, once luscious locks mixing freely with the autumn leaves on the forest floor.

"I don't really pity you Greengrass. You're a Death Eater. Your kind has taken so much away from me, made me hurt, made me cry. There isn't anything in the world you could do to make me forgive you, and I know you don't want it anyway, so let's keep this the way both of us want it, a relationship between a captor and his victim. No stockholm syndrome allowed". He added the final sentence with a short, humourless laugh, reciprocated to his surprise by the bound girl lying beside him.

"Dream on Potter. You may have half the girls in the school wanting to get in your pants, but we Slytherins have no delusions that you're just a stuck up prat. Plus, we heard you'd rather take it rather than give it Potter, is that one true? Is that why you keep the Weasley prat around? His broomstick?" Short and malicious, how could anyone could expect anything more was beyond either of them. The boy looked laughed shortly in spite of himself, a laugh cold and bitter as the morning frost coating the ground around them.

"Yes Greengrass. I swing Dumbledore's way, that's why I keep a girlfriend as cover. Good logic, you caught me" replied the boy with an unusually sardonic tone as he rubbed his hands and stood, carefully wiping leaves off his mud splattered pants before reaching into the filthy black jacket he wore, extracting a silvery locket that he almost ripped of his body, flinging it haphazardly into the tent, as though afraid that if he stared at it any longer, he'd never find the will to remove it.

From behind the dark haired youth came a burst of laughter. "How classy of you Potter. You were jewellery. Is it mudblood made? Or a gift from the blood-traitor slut? Do you wear a cute bracelet with it too?"

Harry's eyes darkened. Striding back towards the girl who now sat upright, the boy grabbed her robes, a fury foreign to her, that she hadn't seen in the entire morning filled his eyes. Roughly pressing the short holly stick to her throat, the boy snarled, "Don't you ever dare insult my friends like that, you heartless Slytherin Bitch, or I will make you pay, for every single word that comes out of your mouth." The threat was clear, yet Daphne Greengrass seemed hardly fazed, almost amused, at the words that came from her captor. Her mouth twisted into a wry, lifeless sneer.

"And tell me Potter, when I call the mudblood for what she is, or call out the Weasel for being utter shite at everything, what are you going to do to me? Come on, tell me, _Chosen One_" The last two words struck home hardest of all, sarcastic and mocking in every sense of the word, ridiculing everything he'd ever fought for, pouring scorn everything Harry had ever accomplished.

For a moment the boy didn't respond but merely let her go and walked to the small tent. Three steps away, he turned. His eyes so very cold and unforgiving yet burning, smouldering with true furor said everything that his words didn't. Yet even she didn't expect his blunt reply. From far away came an echo of a man he once knew; even now he could hear his voice, see his long alabaster hair.

_"There is nothing worse than death, Dumbledore!", the voice which Harry would rather forget snarled furiously. Then there was the reply. "You are quite wrong," the words of the who had taught him so much, hadn't he? The echo of that phrase rang the loudest in the empty clearing "Indeed your failure to understand that there are things much worse than death has always been your greatest weakness "_

Death always had come slowest to those who sought it dearest and most eagerly to those who would rather keep it away.

"I can keep you alive, Greengrass."

A/N: Whew, better get back on with my exam revision...

To be honest I don't really know where I'll be taking this yet.


	2. Houses

It wasn't the bindings that bothered her. It wasn't the fact that in every way, she had been restricted, physically, magically, mentally. No, the ropes that held her fast in all senses were hardly what fed the growing tide of annoyance that the girl felt. Restriction, she was used to. Sometimes the blonde even enjoyed it. Loathe as she was to admit it, the silence was what made her pearl white teeth grind in anxious frustration. The dead absence of noise, interceded only occasionally by the quietest of breezes, the faintest of birdsong. Always a social creature, forever kindling the connections to climb higher; she had been just that. Oh she was cold, no doubt, never friendly, never warm. But words were her poison, intoxicating, drawing in the puppets she needed to sway under the reign of her personal duchy of command. The overbearing sound of nothing for the past three hours, had driven her up the metaphorical wall; there was hardly a physical one around for at least a hundred miles or further after all.

The boy, the one with hair like a filthy bracken, eyes like the colour of the green sea stretching far and beyond, hadn't emerged from his tent for nigh on three hours. The last words he had said to the girl rung painfully true. She was alive, and hating every single second of it. The minutes slipping away, she busied herself suppressing the urge to just scream, howl, in anger, hatred, frustration, all of the emotion that bubbled beneath the surface, her personal volcano biding its time until eruption. It was perhaps five and twenty minutes later that the boy returned.

Greengrass said nothing at first, only gazing into the fire with dull eyes. Oh it was difficult, painful even, to consider whether she ought to look, ought to speak, ought to turn around to her spitefully hated hero. To her relief, she needed not to; the boy spoke first.

"So Greengrass, I expect you're enjoying life?" A simple phrase, yet so cruel and mocking in its casual depths. On the surface, in any other situation, a piece of casual, careless conversation, ever so Gryffindor in its nature. In this situation, spoken with such indifference, apathy, it dripped the trademark of Slytherin more than Draco Malfoy ever had.

"I didn't know you had such a sadistic side, Potter. Torturing your foes with the prospect of a quick clean death, but condemning them to a life lived with clipped wings; you ought to have been in Slytherin, you filthy bastard." Her tone hadn't changed; every word was lathered in spite, nothing close to 'friendly' or 'casual' could be used to describe the words the battered blonde spoke.

Potter didn't reply for a while. The boy merely pursed his lips, never looking at her, always past her, beyond, to whatever lay behind. He couldn't bear to look a Death Eater in the eyes so close, not after all they'd done. Better to just be apathetic, treat the captured with indifferent contempt. After several more agonising seconds that seemed to stretch into minutes, he spoke.

"I'm doing you a favour. Maybe you have more life to explore, maybe somehow you'll redeem yourself in Azkaban, find your way, get away from the Dark side, I dunno really. If you'd like to call it torture, then sure, I suppose. Do whatever you want. I'm not going to stop you, it isn't me that controls whatever thoughts you have. Is it a Slytherin pride thing? Rather die than be captured?" It really wasn't a question, but a statement phrased as one that both knew to be true, if only from their own experiences. The snakes and the lions had more in common than they'd often like to admit; tenacity and stubborn pride to their principles, right or wrong, was a trait both houses often boasted.

The Greengrass girl snorted slightly. "Redeem myself? I suppose you think you're running a comedy show over here Potter. There's no redemption from what's right; and if you think for even the tiniest of seconds that I would rather be swayed to the views of pathetic muggle lovers like Dumbledore, you'd be god dammed wrong." The way the name was said left little uncertainty over how she felt about the man. Nothing but disgust filled her voice as she spoke his name. Leaving no room for error, she continued, "I have no idea how the old shithead died, but here's hoping it was painful. He deserved nothing less than-"

"Snape killed Dumbledore. He did it, turned on him and killed him. Does that make you happy, Greengrass? Does it make your bitch's heart sing with glee that the last emotion that ran through the head of Albus Dumbledore was that of horror, and shock? Are you glad that he died lamenting his betrayal? Somewhere in that tiny black heart of yours perhaps you can squeeze out some fake emotions."

To say she wasn't shocked when he interrupted her would have been only lying. The girl still didn't flinch, didn't let it show; if there was one thing she was a master of, it was putting on a mask, covering everything that was 'Daphne', and replacing it only with what she wanted to be seen. In a vicious world of dog-eat-dog nepotism, it was as necessary a skill as walking or breathing. "That's unfortunate. Perhaps if I had something more than a 'tiny black heart' I might even feel a little pity for the old fart. Death by those who you trusted, always a tragedy, wouldn't you agree, Potter?"

The rising emphasis on the last word left no doubt to the deaths she intended to reference. The boy would have punched her there and then, female or not, Death Eater or student, for the callous comment. Sadly, he was far too used to such comments from the snakes. Far, far, too used to ever second snide remark being about orphanhood, or his greatest feat, at the age of one. Instead, he merely replied with a slight tremor in his voice, "Better dead than in that Azkaban shithole. You really are a Death Eater, you think that the worst thing in this world is dying."

Memories came rising to the surface like a drowning man gasping for air, recollections of black cloaks, hoods, empty, rotten mouths, and that high scream, the cry of 'Harry' uttered in such sheer desperation in the face of the end. It was what he never wanted to experience again, the reason why he had poured his heart and soul into learning the charm to stop it. She said nothing while he lost himself in the ocean of times gone.

"Every second in Azkaban would only make you raise your hands and beg for death as mercy, Greengrass. If you think that your parents will come out of the place the same as they went in.." Harry gave a short bark of soulless laughter, "You're in for a shock."

She was silent. For a precious few seconds anyway, before the floodgates opened once more. "Potter, you think I don't know that? You think that I don't care? It doesn't matter what damn side of this war you're on, we've all got people we care about, even in these 'tiny black hearts'. You think that I don't spend every single second of my living being regretting the fact that two of the people I care most for in the world sit with their hearts, minds, and bodies rotting in their cells? You're in for a shock, Potter."

Taken aback at the blunt show of emotion, for the first time, he turned to meet her eyes. Different. They were filled with a quiet fury, and for the briefest of seconds, he swore he could see a tear. For the tiniest of moments, Harry Potter peered through the mask, through the label and title of Death Eater to see the person within. Just another girl. Another girl whose parents were lost, just another girl who was struggling through life, to forge her own way, make her name known. A girl as cold and arrogant as they came, yet still cared in the end, for what she valued most. For the briefest of seconds, he saw Daphne Greengrass. Then it was gone.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have um, said that," was all the green eyed boy could say in reply, the words awkwardly escaping from his mouth without him really thinking about them. She snorted in that fashion that was ever so characteristic of hers, haughty, arrogant, dismissive. Only this time, the slightest tremor of trepidation shone through before she spoke again.

"Whatever Potter. I said it about your parents, so I suppose you had a right to say it about mine. Don't you dare pity me, I'm sure what they did would have disgusted you. In fact, I'm sure you know the former owner of the watch that you wear, do you remember his name?" Puzzled by the question, the boy ran through the memories that seemed so far, so distant from the cold forest. The memories of a better time, in a home, with a 'family'.

"Was it, Prewett something? It was Mrs. Weasley's brother, I think, something Prew-"

Greengrass cut him off with an attempted wave of her hand. It was a gesture she dearly would have loved to made, if her body hadn't been bound fully in ropes.

"Yes, Prewett. The name's right on the watch, you dullard, I noticed it an hour ago. It was probably Fabian. They did put up a pretty good fight, but mother and father won out in the end. The Killing Curse knows no bar From what i heard, it was close. I could almost respect a blood traitor for that, truly."

The dark haired boy said nothing for the longest amount of time yet. Silence, only filled in by the faint ticking of a dead man's watch. A dead man whose murderers' spawn sat next to him, bound in ropes. For the briefest moment, he considered taking revenge of some sort for Mrs. Weasley's sake. It would have been all to easy, to take his wand, cut her, hurt her. The thought flickered through his head, but passed. The difference between Harry and Tom at times, was the fine line of control that the former possessed, the latter so dearly lacked.

"Are you proud of them?" Even as the boy asked the question, he had low expectations for the answer. From the little he knew of the enigma that sat beside him, he expected the answer to be 'yes', with several insults thrown in for good measure to get a rise out of him, all declared in a loud, irredeemably haughty, quintessentially pureblood tone. Life is full of surprises however, and what you expect most is usually what happens least.

"Perhaps you think I'm 'evil', or something, Potter. That isn't how Slytherins are. We're resourceful, ambitious, cunning. The ends justifies the means for us. I do not think of mother and father as murderers. They are soldiers in the line of battle, and they did what they had to. Killing is the means, to finish the war is the the end that justifies it. Sometimes we all have to do what we must."

For a moment the young man considered that something might truly be going wrong with him, because he agreed. Deep in his heart, he almost slightly agreed; the ends was what justified the means, and if that meant rules had to be broken, or acts of violence had to be committed, then so be it. Life wasn't as easy as a simple straight path labelled 'the right way', after all. For all his faults, the boy wasn't stupid. The words left his mouth before he could think them over.

"I agree. Sometimes, codes and rules have to be broken. Maybe lives have to be taken. Just because we're on the opposite sides of a war doesn't mean we can't agree on some things, I guess." Harry regretted the words the moment he said them. He didn't want to admit it, he wanted to continue to tell himself that the means must always be just and right. But that was a fantasy of a cliched world he didn't live in. Greengrass merely laughed, a short bark of slight amusement.

"You're more Slytherin than I thought you would be for the Chosen One." The words rang too true in his mind, echoing a gruff voice six years back, though it seemed like an eternity and then some. _'You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness...'_. The boy couldn't imagine himself in any other colours but the red and gold; to dress himself in green and silver would have been blasphemy, a blow to the memory of his parents, surely?

"The sorting hat almost put me in Slytherin," blurted Harry, in a considerably more rushed tone than he had meant to use. "He said I could be great, and that Slytherin could help me to get there."

For the first time, a crack of a grin emerged on Daphne's face. "Oh really, Potter. Well, you do have a certain disregard for the rules, don't you? Everybody's heard about how rules are about as solid as ghosts are to you. Ambition, ambition, well, you want to go places, don't you? I think we're more alike than you care to admit. Not that I have any of those Gryffindor qualities such as being an insufferable berk, and throwing myself head first into life threatening situations like a self sacrificing idiot; I'd prefer to keep my head firmly on my neck."

Harry snorted in laughter in spite of himself; the statements were true, after all. He was hardly going to deny the years of rule-breaking that he was certain would have done the marauders and the twins proud. Even Hermione had also commented on his 'saving people thing' that Daphne had so eloquently described as 'self sacrificing idiocy'. Adopting a mock tone of thoughtfulness, the bot replied, "I dunno Greengrass. I've heard about some of what you've, perhaps you ought to be in Gryffindor. Stealing twelve tests worth of answers out of Flitwick's desk while he was talking to McGonagall in the next room; not bad for a Slytherin, not bad at all."

"Hmph, don't get your hopes up, Potter, I'd never throw my lot in with you. Though the prospect of winning every single house cup as long as you're in the school does sound appealing." The reply stung in an unfortunately truthful manner. Even the dark haired boy himself could see Dumbledore's plain favouritism of Harry and the Gryffindors, and if they could, the other houses most certainly could as well. Nevertheless, he was determined not to lose out to her. He never lost, after all.

"Oy, which house was winning it for years in a row before I got there. Why if I didn't know better, I'd say Snivellus was favouring your house, but of course, that would be nigh on impossible for the most just and lawful man in the castle." Without missing a beat the bound girl replied,

"Oh yes, because McGonagall is ever so generous with her points to Slytherin. She's given so many to us, we've voted her in as honorary head of house!"

"Funny, because we were thinking of adopting Snivellus' head as our crest instead of the lion, what with him so perfectly representing the values of righteousness and justice after all. Plus, his greasy mat of hair could pass for a mane too, " replied Harry with an equally sarcastic tone.

"Let's swap head of houses then. Maybe we can swap common rooms too, you can finally see for yourself how dammed claustrophobic it is in there, Potter, " snapped Daphne with the faintest hint of a smile on her face.

"Already been there." The words were almost sung in pride, a smug smirk crossing Harry's face as he turned to look at the girl, who seemed utterly shocked at the revelation. For the first time in at least ten minutes, a silence crossed the empty camp site, only broken by the girl's frantic splutters.

"But, but, what how?! Only Slytherins can get in there, and no Slytherin would ever let you in! That's impossible! You're lying Potter, there's no way you, you, seriously, can't have-"

Harry cut her off with a single word. "Polyjuice."

A look of dawning comprehension spread across her face, before the girl began to giggle with quiet laughter, "And here I was thinking that the motto of the house of mudbloods and blood traitors was 'honor'."

Mubloods and blood traitors. The words brought Harry crashing back down to Earth and reminded him just who he was speaking to. A Death Eater. A Slytherin. A Greengrass. He bit his lip. Could he just let it go? Didn't he have an obligation to stand up for his friends? A small part of him urged himself to, in a tiny voice, that spoke from the bottom of his heart. He was enjoying the conversation. He felt almost as though he was speaking not with the enemy, but just with another fellow person. Yet the words stung, they reminded him of what he fought against, and what he fought for. She peered at him curiously as his knuckles whitened, unaware of the mental battle he fought in his mind, against his principles, values, and even himself.

Harry opened his mouth to speak.

**A/N: Well I suppose that's a cliffhanger of sorts, haha. Just to clear up a few things that may be a little confusing; Daphne doesn't know the details about Harry's escapade in the Slytherin common room, she just realises it's a very viable way to sneak in, if not unwieldy. I say Harry is a 'ends justifies the means' sort of person because of his use of Imperius and Cruciatus. Ultimately, he does have that sort of quality in him, and he is willing to bend or break rules, or moral codes at times, to get to where he desperately needs to. And do tell me if you feel I'm moving their Characters along too fast; I dislike it when stories have characters change too quickly, but ultimately, I'm sure I fall fault to the same problem :c  
**

**Thank you for all the reviews so far! :)**


	3. Words

**A/N: Thanks a tonne to all those who reviewed and especially to Venpex, who helpfully pointed out that I had completely ignored the Taboo. I might have also used that as a bit of inspiration for part of the content in the chapter :P With that said, onwards with the tale!**

Mudbloods, blood traitors. In the years gone by, he'd not have let such language go unpunished without a response. Every insult from Malfoy he had riposted, this ought to be no different. His loyalty would never let such insults slide. Harry stood and, from his trousers, pulled his wand. Face stony and cold, expression unreadable, the boy rounded on the Death Eater staring up at him with a mixture of fear and amusement. Roughly, he shoved the wand into the girl's chest, and twisted it with a snarl on his face. "Don't you dare, ever, insult my friends, in front of me, " spat Harry.

She just laughed. A soft, slow laugh that sent chills down the boy's spine. Far too much for his comfort, it showed a woman in control, and yet, with the ropes binding her, control was what she had least. Doubt tugged at his mind, but he couldn't place his finger on what it precisely was. Harry peered down at her, his expression curious.

"It takes the smallest things to set you off, Potter, it really does, " said Daphne in reply, her tone lighthearted, bordering on conversational. But Contrary to her, Harry didn't consider the words a laughing matter. While twisting the wand, tightening his grip on the grimy handle, Harry spoke, slow and deliberate, every word emphasised.

"I dunno if you didn't hear me the first time, Greengrass. I won't stand for Slytherin trash like you insulting my friends like that. If that's so hilarious to you, go ahead, giggle all you want. I'll have the last laugh," said Harry with a tone of utter derision. Unperplexed, with expression of vague amusement, the girl was silent. What seemed like the ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. With a smile so glamorous, brilliant, and nearly joyful that it was frightening, she began her spiel.

"Mudbloods. Blood-Traitors. Half-Wits. Nobodies. Do I anger you Potter? Am I making icky Potterkins' heart bleed in agony at the sharp knives of my words so brutally murdering his friends?"

A smug sneer adorned the girl's face as she waited, smiling, for him to snap. He didn't. The Boy-Who-Lived let out a groan, of exasperation and unadulterated irritation, before wrenching his wand from her chest. Once more, he took his seat at the duly burning fire. His eyes such a vivid green were clouded with an unmistakable exhaustion. The time he'd spent on the run had taken its toll, and it was clear to see. Turning to her, tone bitter, Harry asked,

"Do you always have to be such a bloody bitch, Greengrass?"

She snorted with suppressed laughter. "Only for you, Potter. Usually, I'm all sunshine and smiles. I'm like a permanent cheering charm, except in human form, " said Daphne in sardonic reply. Harry merely shook his head and sighed, a weary, pained sigh. The fates were rarely kind. It seemed that today, they had been even less so.

"Why was it you, of all people, that he sent to capture me? I'd prefer having the slimy ferret roped up here than the world's biggest bitch, " snapped Harry with a tone both amused and irritated at his predicament. Truth be told, however, he enjoyed the banter that passed between the pair to some degree. In no way did it change the situation they were in, yet if there was any Death Eater he would prefer to have by his side at the present, he'd prefer her over any foul smelling, blunt, middle aged man.

"Perhaps it was the Dark Lord's intention, Potter, since it's common knowledge thay your heart is so full of grace and mercy. His ultimate plan was for you to spare me, and thus suffer my unmatched assholery. Here lies the whole truth, " replied the blonde with a small grin. Letting out a small bark of laughter, the Boy-Who-Lived pointed his wand at his own throat. Rolling his eyes, he adopted an expression of mock horror.

"Oh no. I'm so utterly floored by Daphne Greengrass' attitude that only death can save me from her! Goodbye cruel world, please don't let this bitch follow me into heaven. Apologies Dumbledord, I will not be able to kill Vold-"

"Are you retarded Potter?" Daphne asked with surprising force, cutting into Harry's monologue.

Harry blinked at the girl for several long seconds, confused as to where this was heading. No snappy reply came to his mind, and she merely continued her rant.

"How could you be so stupid? I would have thought that the Boy-Who-Lived would have survival instincts of some kind, but clearly not. If he feels he can break the Taboo on a whim then he must have a death wish of some sort." Her closing words shocked the boy. Taboo. The words filled him with dread, hanging over him like a noose, waiting to be lowered. A nagging feeling in the back of his mind told him she wasn't joking. Her expression corroborated that observation.

"What Taboo?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse and dry. He had a bad feeling about this. An awful one in fact. His mind began to race through the probabilities, meanings of what she meant. His dread was equally mirrored in her, as her eyes widened in realisation. Irritated resignation replaced the dull shock in the girl's chocolate eyes within seconds.

"Shit. He didn't know that it existed. Now he does. There we go again, Daphne, with you and your big bloody mouth," she said under her breath, muttering furious curses. If she hadn't been tied up, she would have been hitting herself. Though, if she wasn't tied up, she'd not have been here, but returning to Malfoy Manor.

So that was it. A secret that Harry wasn't meant to know. About what, was the question. Pursing his lips, Harry tried to consider what it could be. Though he hardly had Hermione's genius, an idiot he was not. She had cut him off when he had began to say Voldemort's name. Could it be that the name itself, triggered an alarm? It made sense, after all.

Harry leant back with a self satisfied smirk, and asked, "So there's a taboo on saying You-Know-Who's name now? From what you said, I can guess that far. Is that how your Death Eater buddies found us at Tottenham Court Road?"

She said nothing, her sole action being to glare up at Harry's smug face, which was becoming more so with every second. "You're insufferable, Potter, " sniffed Daphne with indignation flooding her voice as she turned away from him to hide the smirk that crossed her face.

"Only for you, Greengrass. Usually, I'm all sunsh-"

"OH HAR HAR, Potter, you're hilarious, you smug Gryffindor bastard taking advantage of my bloody mistake, " snapped the girl, growling in fury. Harry blinked, and stared at Daphne. With her face so flustered and indignant, she was bordering on cute. He let the though slide for a moment before shuddering and dismissing it. She was a Death Eater. No matter how attractive she appeared, and knew she was, the girl was rotten in her heart. Or at least, that was what his experiences had told him. Death Eaters bad, Order good. Black and White, simple and clean.

A sudden shout from his distant left interrupted Harry's tumultuous train of thought. "Harry, we're back!" A mixture of disappointment and relief filled the boy's heart. Glad to see his friends' return, safe and sound. Sad to see he would have to end his banter here. Giving the Greengrass girl a stern look, he stood to meet the source of the noise. Half a dozen minutes' walk away, he spotted his companions making their way back towards him. Turning towards the girl curled up next to the dying flames, he nodded before strolling away to where Ron and Hermione were coming from.

"Where'd you guys run off to? I got worried you know, " said Harry as the bushy haired girl and ginger youth came into his sight between the dusky hued trees. Both appeared to be slightly out of breath, the former brushing a stray hair from her face as they approached.

"Sorry mate, we didn't mean to run off on you like that. While you were sleeping in the tent we went to check if there were any more Death Eaters hanging around. It took us uh, longer than we thought it would." Harry nodded and broke out in a smile, falling into step with the pair as the trio turned toward their place of temporary residence.

"Well, seeing as the sun's starting to set, it looks like your favourite time of the day is here, " the dark haired boy joked as the trio meandered through the trees back to their campsite. Ron sniffed unhappily as he replied, "It isn't my favourite time any more with the sort of stuff we eat you know. Last night's fish was awful, mate."

Hermione rolled her eyes in utter exasperation before smacking the redhead walking beside her, looking rather offended at the reminder that her cooking had been a dismal failure. "It's not as though you could do any better Ronald, we probably wouldn't eat anything at all if you tried to so much as touch the food while we prepared it."

Irritably, Ron shot back, "Then let Harry cook or something, didn't he cook for his aunt and uncle for like, 12 years? You should be a gun at cooking mate," he said, addressing Harry with the final statement as though hoping for agreement from the pensive youth.

Harry shrugged with an indifferent sigh. "I'm not really that great of a cook, believe it or not. My uncle's family only ate really simple stuff at home, the rest of the time they'd bring home takeaway or go out, so I didn't get to cook much. They didn't trust me to use anything too expensive or important." To his left, Hermione shook her head in disgust at their treatment of Harry. Coming from a family who had showered her with love and affection as an only child, she pitied him far more than the redhead.

As they came close at the small clearing in which their tent had been pitched, Ron turned to Harry and asked, curious, "Has the Death Eater made any funny moves? Has she tried to escape? Maybe we really shoulda just gotten rid of her, we dunno what she might do, right?" As he spoke, the lanky teen turned to Hermione as though to silently ask for her agreement. When all he received was a frown, he turned to Harry, who replied,

"She hasn't done anything really. It's not too bad, I talked with her a bit. She let slip that there's a Taboo on his name. You-Know-Who's name. So from now on, we'll have to avoid saying it out loud. I guess we've just been lucky so far, I think it sends up some kind of alarm. Other than that I don't think there's any reason to hurt her. She was following her orders, what else could we have expected?" The edge to the boy's voice made it clear he would stand no argument.  
Though the redhead noticed nothing, the brunette swore she heard a tone that was almost protective, even very slightly caring. Pursing her her lips, she resolved to question Harry about how exactly she had let that fact about the Taboo slip.

The lanky teen however, appeared less than convinced. "Didn't Dumbledore say something about fearing the name and how you only fear the person himself or some shit like that? She's just trying to trick us into being cowards, Harry, she's a snake, we can't trust her. You can't trust a Death Eater mate. She probably let it slip on purpose." As Harry opened his mouth to retort, much to his surprise, he was cut off by Hermione.

"Even if she was lying, we have to consider the possibility that it could be true. It might not be a very big chance, but if she was telling the truth and really did let it slip by accident... We can't compromise the entire hunt just for the sake of our pride, Ron, " said Hermione. giving her an approving glance, the Boy-Who-Lived stepped out into the small area protected by their wards. He strode over to Daphne who sat a short distance from the tent, her position awkwardly constrained by her bindings. Following behind him was a tentative Hermione, who gave the girl a glance over as Harry muttered several words unheard to her. Daphne's only response was to snort and shoot an irritable glare at Harry.

With somewhat timid steps, Hermione stepped up to the bound Death Eater, who cocked an appraising eyebrow as she looked her over. As their brown eyes met, Hermione offered her hand. "Ah, hello Daphne, I'm Hermione Granger. We've probably met a few times before, but I thought it would be polite. Please don't do anything stupid to make trouble for us, " she said, regretting her words a second later. Something in the fierce eyes of the blonde girl, eyes that had seen too much, witnessed and presided over actions unimaginable, intimidated her. Daphne looked sideways at Harry and sighed. "She does realise I'm tied up and can't actually shake her hand right? Not that I'd shake a mudblood's hand. Wouldn't want to get an infection."

At those words, Ron leapt forward, snarling. his wand from the leather belt with such speed that all three others present doubted it hadn't been ready from the beginning for such a comment. Before his wood came within a foot of her, however, a strong arm grasped it, pointing it away to the trees beyond. As the redhead looked incredulously at him, Harry only shook his head and stated, "Don't do it Ron. She's only trying to rile us up, just don't let it get to you." Once again, Hermione heard what she swore was the faintest hint of a protective tone to his words.

Ron merely rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath that sounded close to 'soft-hearted', before stalking off into the tent, leaving Hermione and Harry waiting in the clearing. Exchanging exasperated glances, the duo followed him duly into the tent to retrieve the cooking utensils from Hermione's bottomless bag. With a nod to the brunette, Harry stayed behind for a minute longer to berate Daphne for her words, though its effectiveness was clear from the smirk on her face. Rolling his eyes high to heaven, Harry pushed the tent flap aside. There was work to be done.

Outside, the sun came to the end of its daily journey across the skies, golden warmth overtaken by the creeping darkness. Beneath the frigid light of the stars, Daphne Greengrass lay, shivering and half asleep. The fire had long died out as Harry and the other members of the trio had long returned to the warm comfort of the tent, a comfort she appeared to have been denied. With a bitter sigh, the young Death Eater rolled closer to the fire, attempting to cultivate what little remained of its warmth.

Hopeless. As the moon revealed its pale face to night sky, it became clear that any attempt to warm herself was a fruitless endeavour. In vain, she tried to stop herself from shivering in the night's frost. No matter how much effort the girl made, the fact was immutable. She was doomed to spend a sleepless night in the dead cold of the night, alone, forsaken. Ropes binding every limb of her body rigid, even to stretch was impossible. There were worse things than death indeed. Right now it would have been a relief to pass away into whatever reality lay beyond the veil.

Sometimes life gave you relief, but never in the way that one desires. The cold brush of death was not what woke the brown eyed girl, but a soft blanket, thrown over her in a manner that almost seemed tender. From above, a voice she had never thought she would hear again, never even wanted to hear again, spoke, in an apologetic tone.

"Sorry Greengrass, are you hungry?"

**A/N: Immaturely hilarious as it may sound, Ron is not pushing his 'wood' on Daphne, but rather it's just a case of synecdoche (Like calling a sword 'steel'). Just thought to clear up any potential confusion :)**  
**Thanks for sticking with this rather slow story!**


	4. Human

**A/N: Hush, Nzl Onyx, don't spoil my plot too much! :)**  
**And thank you, Nakuoo, I'll make sure not to end it on a**

The girl was furious. She couldn't believe he had the nerve, the audacity, to confront her with such a tone after abandoning her to the wild. Words fixed nothing. Apologies were useless. Yet here stood the foolhardy Gryffindor, fixing around her a blanket, in a manner that seemed almost casual. As irritated as she was, the shivering girl did nothing to deny him, merely glaring through the dark at his vague figure. With an undignified snort, she sat up and said, "If you were sorry, Potter, you'd get the bloody fire started."

The boy mumbled his apologies before sending a spark of heat into the logs, watching enthralled as the hungry flames were resurrected. The fact that the wood was charred beyond burning by mundane flame was moot, it mattered little to the magical fire that thrived, content, on the spent fuel. She shuffled closer to the sole source of heat while doing her best to keep the blanket on thing boy. Shooting the youth a reproachful glare, Daphne asked sullenly, "So what was so important Potter, that you decided to come so close to fulfilling your poor captive's wish of death?"

The Potter boy, brushing the hair from his eyes, the scar being borne clean to the eye while he did so, replied, "Nothing in particular. I had to discuss some important heroic matters with my equally important and heroic companions. It's no business of a Death Eater, as much as I'm sure you'd love to listen in." The Greengrass heiress groaned at his snark, wishing for once that he would give her a straight response. She mentally berated herself for allowing him to give her a taste of her own medicine. After all, she was the Slytherin here. Gryffindors were meant to be dull, straightforward fools, not cunning linguists.

"Why not?", asked Daphne, playing the devil's advocate. Not that there was anything wrong with the devil. In fact, he was a very good family friend. "The chances of me escaping while you have me bound up so horrendously tight in these ropes is somewhere between zero and nothing. You won't let me go. That would too to stupid, even for you."

Harry smirked and said nothing. The boy instead fixed his eyes on the stars above, his eyes wandering across the maze diamond points fixed in the sky. It was a chilling feeling indeed. To think that he was almost being watched by the multitudinous array of glimmering lights, was a frightening thought. Some nights, especially this one, he wished they would simply hide their fires wand cloak their light. If they did so, nobody might tell his heart's blackest desires. The desire to know the girl who sat beside him, despite everything he knew she was.

"Ron and Hermione would never stand for it, Greengrass. Unfortunate, I know, " said Harry. The only language the pair seemed capable of communicating in was one of inverted phrases, subtle nudges and blatant sarcasm. A lopsided relationship indeed.

She'd been altogether too quiet from what he'd come to expect. Her gaze drifted aimlessly over the panorama of deepest black that was only occasionally interspersed with the tiniest points of white. She was taking her sweet time to respond. The girl knew it. He didn't mind. "Hoping for a shooting star, Greengrass?", said Harry in a conversational tone, a part of him hoping she would respond in kind.

"Mm, maybe, Potter. Why, are you? What would you wish for, if they really did make your wishes come true?" The question was plain, childish even. Yet the moment he heard it, the boy saw no clear answer. Too many things he wanted, too many things he needed. The obvious answers came to mind first. Voldemort dying, his parents' return, Sirius' return, the end of the war. But it was the less thought of ones that he dwelled most on. To be normal. To go back to Hogwarts. To live life, the way he wanted to. Somewhere, a childish spark of hope remained for all he desired, if only s faint one.

Turning to the blanket clad girl next to him, the boy asked in return, "I don't know. What about you? What would you wish for, if wishes could come true?" She chuckled, a dry, throaty noise. Her eyes seemed to bore into the fire, the stare drilling into the depths of the flickering flames.

"You mean apart from you lying dead on the floor, and me safe at home?", Daphne said with a look of derisive amusement at which Harry feigned an expression of hurt. She continued, in a more serious tone, "I don't know either. I guess...I'd just want all this to be over. I want the war to be over, preferably with our side winning of course. I'm not sympathising or anything. Don't take me for a muggle loving Gryffindor or something like that. I'm a Slytherin, I wan't this to be over for me, and for my family. Then we can have a righteous peace."

Human. So very human were the motivations that drove the girl. It was at that moment that Harry realised, that no matter who one was, what they had done, or why they had done so, everybody was human. Dumbledore was human, a fact proven when those two words has undone him. Greengrass was human, she only wanted the best for herself and those she cared for. Voldemort, even Voldemort, was human in his own twisted way. The focused desire and intent, the drive, anger, passion, was all human.

Labels like 'Death Eater', 'Order Member', meant little. Words such as 'good' and 'evil', were relative, and ultimately, told you so little about who one really was. She hated muggle borns, she loathed Gryffindor, loathed the 'Light'. Yet 'darkness' made her no less of a person. Melancholy in his tone, the boy asked, "Do you care about your family a lot?"

She hissed, a noise of indignant annoyance. Turning to glare at the Boy-Who-Lived, the girl replied, "Of course I do, Potter. Is it so hard to comprehend that people who aren't on your side have lives too? Not everything revolves around you and your worthless struggle. We're all real. Don't be such a prick. Not that you can help it, being a stupid lion." Slytherin. Gryffindor. The labels that seemed to be an automatic way to define a person. Smart. Brave. Cunning. Loyal. Words treated as though they were mutually exclusive, as though the house had a monopoly on them.

With a sigh, Harry replied, "I didn't mean it in a rude way, Greengrass. I just wanted to know about them, and how you felt about them. You have a younger sister right?" She nodded, seeming to be not to be as angered than before, though no less guarded.

"Astoria," said Daphne. As the words left her mouth, the girl briefly fought back tears. Astoria. She doubted she would ever see her again. Never read to the brat as she so irritably pestered her about school gossip, never run her hands through the light brown hair falling in messy bangs. Out here, with no information, no clue on the world so wide and dangerous, who knew where that little girl could be right now? Daphne felt guilty, beyond belief. It was she who had been the inspiration for her younger sister to join the Death Eaters.

It was the older sister, the one who took the lead, who Astoria looked up to, thought she would only admit it grudgingly. Astoria had said she wanted to help, didn't want to be second class compared to her, so she too, had joined with the Lord. Neither of them had the Mark yet. Privately, the brown eyed blonde doubted they ever would. All they were was disposable, tools to be used. Just like the aurors, in the end. Most, if not all of them, were fodder. So was she. It had been her fault, that Astoria was in danger, or could very well be.

"Is there something wrong, Greengrass? You seem upset. Awfully quiet too," asked Harry with the slightest touch of concern in his voice. She wanted to brush him off. Berate him for being a stupid Gryffindor trying to uphold the 'value' of 'chivalry'. But in her fragile state of mind, the girl instead looked for something to lean on, and clutched onto it like a drowning man, grasping at sinking tresses.

"Astoria." The words began to tumble out, even though she knew it was wrong to do this. She was betraying information, betraying herself. But somewhere under the lights of the stars, the soft warmth of the fire, Daphne had lost her cares. It wasn't an enemy, Harry Potter, who she was speaking to, betraying herself to. Just another person, who happened to be there. That was all she needed.

"I'm worried for her. She's out there, fighting, putting her life on the line for what's right. She's fighting for what she believes in." Her voice trembled slightly, but she continued regardless. "I'm proud of her. So proud of her, more than she ever knows. But I'm scared for her too. I know you lost your Grandfather, Potter. I won't say anything about my opinions on him. But I don't want to know that feeling, the feeling of losing somebody, because they fought for you."

Harry's breath had caught in his throat. Her words had struck a chord, deep within him. Sirius. Yes, the boy knew exactly the feeling she was talking about, and precisely the reason why she was so desperate to avoid it. The guilt, the guilt was all too familiar. He should have done something. If he'd struck Bellatrix a second earlier, Sirius would still be with him. His fault, that Sirius was dead. He had made Sirius fight, he was the reason that he'd been there. Without him...

She knew what he was thinking about, the night, that night, when the Dark Lord had made himself known once more to the world. They were on opposite sides of the war. Her father had been there, fighting for what he had believed in, and paid the price. Speaking softly, she said, "I lost my parents to Azkaban that night, Potter. I know you were fighting on the other side. Maybe you even crossed spellfire that night. But no matter which side, it doesn't change the loss. We're both...human. To be honest, I would rather my parents be dead than in Azkaban. You said that there are things worse than death, Potter. You were right."

Harry swallowed. He was in two minds, conflicted. Part of him told himself that he ought to feel no pity for Death Eaters, that Light was good, Dark was bad. Yet the other side, the side of him that bled compassion, sympathised. He knew her pain, she knew his. "I think," said Harry, voice hoarse, "I think, it's just as bad, for people to be killed on either side. I agree with you. We both lost somebody close to us, that night. Maybe Sirius went to a better place, I dunno. I sure hope he did, he deserves it after all the crap that's happened to him in life. I'm sorry about your parents. Azkaban is the most awful, repulsive place on earth. I don't think it would be right to wish it on anybody."

The girl with tears in her eyes pulled the blanket tighter with her fingers, while staring into the flames as though she could see something beyond. "I visited them once," she whispered. "A month after they were sentenced there, about a week ago, I went to visit them. They didn't recognise me at first, my dad..." Daphne briefly choked on her words, letting out a small cough before continuing. "My dad thought I was his sister. He told me to get out of the country before his dad found out we had joined the Death Eaters. Said he was sorry, for letting me die like this. Told me, that he didn't want the same thing to happen to his daughter. Mum, she just thought that, that I was an illusion, just like all the other times she'd seen me." Harry instinctively moved a hand to her back, patting it tentatively. It felt odd to comfort a Death Eater, somebody who had tried to kill him. But Harry mentally corrected himself. Right now, she wasn't a lackey of Voldemort, but merely a fragile girl, who'd had her world taken away from her, and couldn't find it again.

"The dementors, I think, they were, always the worst part," hiccoughed the girl. "Every time I hear them, it was the same word they were saying, over, and over again. Astoria. I could hear it in their voices, they were telling me she was next. That they were looking forward to it. That was the day when I became scared out of my wits for Astoria. She's such a sweet girl, she's so much netter, so much nicer than I am. To see her, that naive, innocent brat, broken in the confines of those grey walls. That's the one thing I could never bear to see, Potter. That's why...I took the mission to kill you."

Harry had no words. His mind churned with a million thoughts, conflicts, battles. The niggling voice at the back of his head, which spoke with the voice of Dumbledore, that reminded him who she was. A Death Eater. A bigot. Pureblood supremacist. Hardly known for being kind, compassionate, or caring. A girl seen consorting with the likes of Pansy Parkinson, and Draco Malfoy. But another side, that spoke in a softer, calmer tone that he remembered so well, yet couldn't put a face to, reminded him of what she had been through. He knew what it was like to be without parents. He knew how it was to fear so desperately for the life of another that you cared so much about. The side of the voice whom he couldn't put a name to won out.

"I understand. I won't hold anything against you. When I thought Voldemort took Sirius, I was scared. I was frantic, frenzied. There was nothing that I wouldn't have done to get to him. We managed to singlehandedly take out Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad to get to him. I think I understand that's how you feel about Astoria. If something happened to her, you wouldn't let anything stand in your way between you and her. Right?" It was barely a question, more of a statement. They both knew it to be true.

"Right," said Daphne quietly.

"I've always sort of wanted a sibling," mumbled Harry. "Somebody I could talk to, somebody who could share the sort of interests I had. Somebody to care for and fiercely protect, from the day they were born, to the day I died. All I had was my cousin, who treated me like a wallpaper, or a punching bag. You're a lucky girl to have a sister so close," he said.

"We're not close," Daphne said with a soft sigh. "We never were very good siblings. Some sisters are almost like best friends to each other, but we drifted apart. She was kind hearted, felt much less strongly about pureblood supremacy than I did. She was the one who never got involved in the politics or fighting of the house. I was just the manipulative bitch who didn't like having such an embarrassing sister. But Azkaban, that's where I changed. Where I realised that there were things in life that I valued higher than myself, and she was one of them. There's no life without Astoria. I hated her, but I can't live without her."

Harry understood. He hated the Dursleys. They had treated him as scum, something to be removed from their lives. A plague, the only happiness being its disappearance. Yet he couldn't bear to leave them to Voldemort's wrath. It took until the darkest, final days of his stay with them, but he realised, he cared. Even if it was minute, minuscule, Harry cared, just a little. He was far kinder and more merciful than they deserved but it only felt right. It was the same, he supposed, though in reverse, from what she'd said about Astoria.

"Yeah, it's always in the worst situations that brings out the best of us huh. I'm sure she's deathly worried about you too. It goes both ways, you know, Greengrass. I'm sure Astoria would do anything to have you back right now," said Harry. Then with a wholly inappropriate grin, he jested, "Though, unfortunately for her, you're currently not going anywhere. Although..."

The youth pulled his wand from the tight pockets of his jeans and waved it in a motion familiar to Daphne. As expected, the tension in her body lightened within seconds and the girl savoured the first moments of her limbs' freedom to stretch out with a yawn. "I don't think you're a massive threat or anything, so I undid several of the binding charms. Now it's just your hands and feet that are loosely bound," he explained

The girl glared up at him before snapping, "I don't need you to narrate things for me, Potter, I have eyes you know, even in the dark. Regardless, you're far too trusting. I'm still a Death Eater. Just because I'm human, and have my weaknesses and flaws, doesn't mean I don't follow Voldemort. You haven't 'converted' me or anything. I would gladly fight for the Dark Lord, and if I had my wand in my hand I probably would kill you."

Harry sighed. "You have a really odd way of saying thanks, Greengrass, " he complained indignantly. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm not thanking you Potter. We had our soft moment of weakness under the stars and all that shit. Now let me go to bed," said Daphne with an annoyed growl. Harry shrugged and stood, his movements sluggish and exhausted. His watch told him the time was almost midnight though he felt as if the night had only begun. Turning to leave, he heard an odd grumble, that almost sounded like it was from a certain somebody's stomach. The boy spun around to a sight he felt privileged amongst mankind to see.

Daphne Greengrass sat on the leafed floor of the forest with a blush creeping up her face, barely visible in the dim firelight. "Ah, um. That was probably a bear", stammered the Greengrass heiress in apologetic explanation. With a laugh, Harry bent down to pick up the food he had meant to deliver, now lying cold and forgotten. Human. No matter what she believed or what she had done, he remembered her as above all, human.

**A/N: I tried my best to not end it on a cliffhanger!**


	5. Youth

**A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews and advice!**

Quiet breathing. The impatient tapping of a foot. Curses uttered quietly. The girl checked her watch, her eyes fixating onto it with an irritable glare. Four past ten in the morning was what it said. For her, that wasn't the time. The time was 'three hours since she had requested an appointment with him'. It had cost her time, and time was worth its weight in galleons. Her eyes flicked over the smooth black door, completely flat save for the elegant handle. Said door-handle was fashioned in the form of a twisting silver snake, eyes blazing green, so vibrant it could have been alive.

The handle was the most interesting thing in the dark room. Cramped black walls, dark as midnight, squeezed her in from all four sides. Constricted. The girl felt the room itself was trapping her in a manner agonising and slow. The floor was dark in colour as well, a pattern of simple tiles neatly laying out the foundations for the room. She hated the tiles. They were cold, hard, and unbecoming. They were far too much like bathroom furnishings for comfort. A single couch was positioned in the corner. Unremarkable. Just as the entire room was. The couch was caked through and through in dust. Clearly, nobody had sat on it for months.

"Can I go in yet?"

Her voice cut through the silence, like a blunted knife sawing through thick custard. The man standing by the door neither replied nor moved. Making no indication that he had heard, the black cloaked figure leaned closer to the wall. His eyes peered out from beneath a mat of messy brown hair, dull, emotionless. She couldn't tell if he was under the Imperius, or simply unable to muster any feeling for her situation.

"I said, can I go in yet?", snapped the girl, her voice irritable, angered. She had waited far too long, for no gain whatsoever. The man devoid of emotions spoke in dulcet tones, "The Dark Lord, will see you, when he is ready." His voice made it clear. 'Ready' was simply another euphemism for 'never'. Three hours of her life wasted. She resisted the desire to spit on the ground in disgust. The brunette girl stormed out of the room, throwing open the door to a resounding crash behind her.

Beyond, a dark corridor. The tiles were identical to the room, black diamonds repeated in an endless stretch down the long hallway. The was were claustrophobic, the candles dull, enchanted to be green through simple magic. Figures masked by long black shuffled across the corridor, hastily hurrying into the rooms that branched out from the snaking hall. Ninth on the left. She turned and knocked on the door, a simple affair, charcoal black wood with the characteristic sliver snake handle perched below her hovering had.

A slurred and broken voice called from beyond, his lack of care evident in the tone he took. "Come in then, I'm the only one inside." She pushed the door open to enter the space beyond. A wide room, dark, save for only a few flickering candles haphazardly placed around the room, and the light flittering through the closed curtains. The room stank. It smelled of all the scents that disgusted her: Alcohol, sweat and sex. Smells she loathed with a passion. Long couches were scattered across the room, somewhat focused around the table in the approximate centre.  
Their stuffing seemed to be escaping from the grip of the leather, worn and broken. In the leftmost couch, furthest from the doorway, a pale youth sat, sullen in his silence.

Draco Malfoy. Once luscious, silvery pale hair that was smoothed perfectly across his brow, now fell in dirty, mangled locks. Stubble, rough and uncut covered the lower half of his thin, sallow face. His eyes no longer shone with the vile malice that had fuelled it in the years gone by. The orbs were dulled, empty. The single emotion that occasionally crossed his face was regret. The clothes, tailored to fit, hung slack, filthy and torn.

His right hand clutched a three-quarters empty bottle of beer.

Alcohol had been the mainstay of the Malfoy heir for months, ever since that fateful night which saw the death of Dumbledore. Nobody knew which regret was tearing at him, being unable to kill the old headmaster, or even having attempted. He let nothing be known. The only known was that the experience had changed him. Shattered the formerly proud boy into a million fragile pieces, never to be mended. The boy had stayed in a stupor of alcohol and sex, often at the same time, in the dank, dark room that housed the Death Eater Youth.

She strode over to him, shoes softly padding on the carpeted floor. Stains of alcohol and other dubious fluids covered the floor, leaving pools she was careful to avoid. The broken blond stared up at her with a blank expression the bottle slowly leaking fluid into the floor beside his chair. He blinked as she settled down on the couch to his right, the girl careful to avoid any chair that looked as though it had seen more than its fair share of action.

"Astoria," said Malfoy, drinking slowly from the emptying bottle. The words were emotionless. She turned her head toward him, an irritated expression of exhaustion on her face. It wasn't that she hated the callow youth, she just wasn't in the mood. Often they had spoken long into the night, pouring out their troubles as Daphne sat opposite, silent and brooding. Today was not one of those days.

"You look upset. What happened, huh, Greengrass?", asked the heir to the Malfoy family, his free hand scrambling for yet another drink, searching through the stack of emptied bottles for one that had any liquid remaining. Astoria snorted, letting herself sink into the soft fabric of the chair while lightly fingering her wand.

"Have a guess, Draco. What do you think happened?" She usually wasn't like this. Astoria hated it. Acting like her sister, cold, distant and an utter bitch. If there was one thing she laid claim to being prideful over, it was being different, especially from her older sibling. At the present moment however, she couldn't be brought to care any longer. The typically warm and cheerful Astoria Greengrass reached for a bottle to drown her sorrows, sending the cap flying into the dark beyond with a light flick of her wand. Draco sighed.

"I guess he didn't see you. I'm sorry I guess," he said tonelessly, spitting the words without any hint of effort. Astoria glared at the boy, her anger rising. The dam was close to breaking, the girl was close to shattering. Only one more insincere word from him and the rage would boil over. Too close for comfort. "Like, that's what he always does, turns us away huh," Draco muttered. Astoria snapped.

"Good job, Draco. No fucking shit mate. You're an only child, you have no clue how it feels. My sister, my only sister is missing. She never returned from that so called 'one man mission'. Now if you don't fucking mind, I'm going to cry myself to sleep here. Don't even think of touching me, I don't want it tonight." Draco flinched, recoiling from the force of her words. Pulling himself from the torn sofa, the boy staggered towards her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think. I just uh, " stammered the boy, draping himself over the arm of her chair. A faint blush covered his cheeks. The youth was drunk out of his mind. Always, when he had been like this, Draco had spilled his secrets, fears, to her. In Astoria and Astoria only he confided. Their relationship was odd indeed. Friends was a shaky term to describe what consisted of occasional fucks and long winding conversations of confession and breakdown. So close, yet so distant.

She brushed him off her chair absentmindedly, downing close to half of her drink as she did so. Embarrassing as it was to Draco, she handled her alcohol considerably better than he did. It would take two to even faze her, more to reduce her to the drunken schoolboy he was acting like right now.

"Doesn't matter. You don't understand, you stupid bastard. I have no way of knowing if Daphne is alive or not. It doesn't matter how she treated me or what she did, she's my sister and family." Draco curled himself up against the sofa, giving a soft groan.

"I said I was sorry, Asty, you think I'm not worried too? I hate Daphne, she's a bitch who opens her legs once in a blue moon but she was still one of us," slurred the blonde youth as his hand crept up the side of her seat. A tinge of furious blush rose on Astoria's cheeks. Shaking in anger, she grabbed the filthy, tangled mat of hair below her. "Fucking don't talk about my sister like that!", screamed the brunette girl, making a vain attempt to hurl him away.

Growling, Draco ripped her hand from his locks, crawling further over the arm of the chair, left arm snaking into Astoria's lap. "Look," he said, voice hoarse and dry. "She has to be safe, right, I'm sure that if something happened to her, you would just _know_. Maybe she was captured, knowing that Potter git, he probably took her prisoner because he couldn't bear to kill her or some shit. Probably doing better than we are right now, so just stop worrying, Greengrass."

The blonde stared up at her with his head rested on the rough leather arm of her chair. His dull grey eyes flicked up and down her body, scanning, analysing. Astoria was the polar opposite of her sister indeed. Where Daphne was slim and tall, almost to the point where he had suspected she might have been anorexic, Astoria was shorter yet boasted a more attractive figure. For the most part, it was the simple fact that her chest was ample, unlike her older sister. Astoria's face however, was girlish and unrefined, paling in comparison to the elegant beauty of her blond sister. Even their hair contrasted the pair apart. The elder, pale, blonde and with a touch of platinum. The younger, a multitudinous assortment of browns and dark gold, blending into her brunette hair.

Daphne's features came primarily her father, Edward. Though by now his hair had greyed with age, at his prime, the man's hair had shone a fine, pale gold. His aggressive, cold arrogance and never-ending abundance of hubris was similarly passed on to his eldest daughter. Helena, the matron of the Greengrass family, had passed onto Astoria her finest traits. Brunette hair and slightly olive skin, though both had been lightened by a touch of her fathers' inheritance. The sisters were nothing short of legend in the castle for the contrast between them.

The girl sighed, burying her head into his hands with a pained groan. "Look, Draco. You're probably right or something but that doesn't mean I shouldn't worry. She's an absolute bitch, what you said was true. Do you really think Potter can handle that? Don't you understand? You know what she's like, you said it yourself. Daphne is arrogant as fuck, she won't back down for anything or anybody. The Boy-Who-Lived might have taken her prisoner or something, but I bet you, he wouldn't be able to stand her for a minute."

Draco slumped, sliding from the chair Astoria seated herself, onto the floor. The heir to the Malfoy house sullenly downed another gulp of firewhiskey. He coughed, spluttering, with spit dripping from his chin. The taste burned his throat, searing it with a heat that for a brief moment, drowned his regrets and sorrows. "Potter, that bastard. All I'll say Astoria, is that if he wants to do something, he'll fucking do it. Doesn't matter whatever stands in his way. If you push back, he pushes back harder. God dammed bastard stalked me all last year, trying to figure out what I was up to. He almost got it, too. Maybe he'll see her as a challenge, or something. I dunno. Fuck," sneered the blonde boy.

Putting the cold glass to her lips, the young girl downed her alcohol with a moan. "Probably. Let's stop talking about her. Daphne can handle herself or something, yeah? She's strong. But what about you, Draco? You can't tell me that you're handling yourself, dumbass." Astoria's tone was low and blurred, the effects of the alcohol beginning to rather clearly affect her. Her small hand, creeping over the edge of her couch, tickled Malfoy's earlobe. Seconds later, it slipped from her fingers, his blond slumping to the stained carpet.

"I'm fine," snapped the youth shortly, taking a long sip from his emptying bottle. He was lying. Anybody in the room could have seen the emptiness that flooded his eyes, the slump of the tense shoulders. Memories flashed through his mind of that night, that fateful evening that had turned his world upside down. Green light, red light. The home he had loved, though he'd never show it, a battlefield. Another gulp. The memories blurred, faded from his mind. Wrenching pain in the scalp of his head ripped him from his stupor.

"Bullshit. You can't lie to me Draco, we know each other far too well for that. Whenever you sit alone here, in this dank shithole of a room and you're not with some slag like Pansy, you're brooding. Tell me, what the hell you're thinking?", snarled the brunette girl, alcoholic breath clouding Malfoy's emotionless face. No reply. The sallow youth clambered to his feet, leaning with his eyes closed on the rough surface of the chair.

"Why are you like this, Stori? You're usually not like this at all," he said in a low murmur. Astoria snorted.

"I'm worried, Draco. Scared. For Daphne, for you, for me, for everybody. All I want to do is just run away, go somewhere, a place the war can't touch me. Leave it all behind, we've all seen far too much of our fair share of violence," the girl replied.

"But we have to fight, Astoria. We have to complete the Dark Lord's will. Don't you want a new world, where those with the power and right rule? Don't you want that fairer world where the mudbloods are in the place they should be, and so are we? If we want that world, Stori, we have to fight, have to learn to kill, right?", the blonde said. His words were empty. No belief empowered his words, no motivation or commitment rang in his hollow tone.

"You know damm well, Draco, that you're not a killer. The old man said it himself, before Snape took him out. You told me what he said, he told you the truth. You aren't a killer. Your father is, yes, but you aren't, that isn't you," Astoria stated in reply, her tone almost reminiscent of the Gryffindor know-it-all.

The boy's expression darkened, a bitter frown crossing his face. "I have to, or he'll kill me. I can't just leave I can't just let go, there's no way to escape. What am I meant to do, dammit? I can't betray my parents. I just..." His voice began to descend into a croak as the boy known as Hogwarts' greatest bully broke down, regret and emotion overwhelming him in a crashing wave. Sighing, Astoria pulled him closer, running her fingers through his once sleek hair.

"I don't know yet, I just don't know either, Draco." Those nights had always ended up this way. The pair fit, two puzzle pieces clicking exactly into form. He needed somebody who could handle him, broken and shattered in his regret as he was. The Slytherin prince needed her care, warmth, he desperately longed for somebody who he could pour out his experiences, regrets, worries to. Astoria. She alone, of the youngest Death Eaters, understood his pains. The others had few regrets. Mindless sheep, without the independent streak Draco had possessed. Eased into killing and torture under the watchful eye of their parents.

The Malfoy boy was hardly clean. He was a bully, a thug, and knew it. Power, he enjoyed. Control, was his drug, keeping him exhilarated. It was the reason he had kept Gregory, Vincent and Pansy around. Holding the reins of power over them, being able to command what he wanted, that was his sadistic joy. Yet Draco was no killer. It was his fiercely independent streak, that had developed in the boy's later years, his arrogance and hubris, that had ironically saved him from the tearing of his soul. He had seen his fellows do it before, watched as Theodore had tortured a hapless muggle without mercy. Watched as Daphne had murdered an Auror in heat of battle, a single spell, so coldly whispered, wiping out the life for all eternity, with two words.

In that way, he was similar to Astoria. They were the sole remaining 'clean' youths of their group. Astoria more so than Draco by far. The latter had tortured, wounded, crippled. He couldn't deny he enjoyed fighting for the cause he believed in, to make himself proud of the effort. The former had done none of said actions. The purest of the darkest, a dim grey light in a sheet of pure black. The boy knew she had joined for her sister, virtually only for Daphne.

The world blurred, a dark curtain falling slowly over his eyes. In a dreamy daze, the heir of Malfoy began to succumb to the relentless attack of sleep. One fourteen was what the aged Grandfather clock stated. The blonde slumped, his body pressing into the girl's as he draped himself into the chair. The world was falling into dreams, fast, and it could scarcely come sooner.

Astoria glanced down at the exhausted youth with her own heavy lidded eyes. As she too, fell to the spell of sleep, her last memory was of the bottle slipping from limp fingers, the dark room fading to black around her. Dreams. In the whirlwind of sleep, she dreamed only of brown and gold, a pale, silky gold with a touch of platinum. Hair, long, flowing and beautiful. Eyes cruel and cold, so lacking in warmth, with that characteristic spark of relentless determination powering her eyes. Daphne.

She reached out to the slender blonde, hands desperately reaching. The elegant girl's shoulders stiffened, she spoke silent words that Astoria only heard murmurs of. Daphne took a step forward, and yet another, walking away, across the endless stretch of white. She tried to speak, call, reach, scream. Nothing. All the girl could do was stretch out her hands, open her mouth uselessly to call out. Her elder sister turned, but the eyes that stared back at her were not Daphne's. Vivd, forest green. Messy, midnight black locks.

Hundreds of kilometers away, Daphne stirred.

**A/N: Man, this took way too long. Thanks to all the advice given to me. Sorry for writing so poorly this time around.**


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